


To keep the world at bay

by givebackmylifecas



Series: On your back in the glass [4]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Reunion, also... a new threat, soft berlermo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “So you all decided to come here – to the one place the people that have probably been watching you don’t know about.” Andrés’ voice has gone soft and dangerous now and Tokyo and Denver have the good sense to look scared. He feels Martín’s hand squeeze his neck reassuringly but this, he cannot and will not let this go. “Did it ever occur to you to not lead them all right here? That you were just putting Martín and I in danger?”Post-canon where the gang reunites after getting mysterious letters.Follows on from the previous fics but can be absolutely read as a stand-alone
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: On your back in the glass [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752175
Comments: 76
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So.... I'm back. again. this is what lockdown is doing to me and I so understand if you're sick of this already.  
> Anyway, if you don't want to read the previous fics all you need to know is that Berlin survived the mint, got together with Palermo during the bank heist, and now they're married heist husbands living in Vietnam. (for those who did read the other parts, this picks up about two years after part three)
> 
> TWs: sofar only for canon-typical violence in future chapters, but I'll update this and the tags as I go. (as always, expect a happy ending though)
> 
> Fic title from the Amazing Devil song "Fair"

Andrés has just managed to strip Martín out of his shirt when it happens.

They’d been celebrating the installation of their new counter tops – Italian marble in tasteful shades of dark blue which had taken six months to arrive – and Andrés was planning on christening each one of them, even though Martín wasn’t convinced it was hygienic.

So there he is, lips firmly attached to Martín’s neck, while his husband, who is perched on said new counters, wraps his legs around his hips and then the doorbell rings.

It’s not like they never have company, Andrés has made sure to maintain friendly relations with many of the more sophisticated crime families in the area, it’s just that it’s ten o ‘clock at night and everyone they know in Vietnam would have called ahead first.

Martín freezes and they share a look when Andrés pulls away to enough to be able to look him in the eye. They’d planned for situations like this of course, but they didn’t exactly expect the police or the national intelligence to announce their presence.

Andrés moves to the wall on the far side of the kitchen and presses a panel which opens a previously invisible drawer. When it slides open, he pulls out two guns and hands one to Martín.

“Stay here, mi amor,” Andrés says, ignoring his husband’s protest. “Martín, please?” It’s the closest he’ll ever come to begging and Martín nods, staying in the kitchen, his gun raised pre-emptively.

The doorbell rings again, this time accompanied by someone banging on the wooden door. Andrés flicks off the safety on his own gun as he makes his way towards the entrance hall.

It’s bright in the hallway, but too dark outside to make out who is on the other side of the frosted panels of glass set on either side of the door.

In a smooth and practised move, Andrés opens the door so that he’s still mostly behind the thick wood, with his gun pointed at whoever is on the other side.

“Andrés?” a voice says and then Sergio is stepping forward, into the light.

Andrés blinks. “Hermanito? What are you doing here?”

“Can we come in?” Sergio asks, already stepping past him

“We?” Andrés repeats and then Lisbon – Raquel he should probably call her now – follows Sergio, pulling Paula along behind her. Except they’re not the only ones. Denver carrying a baby in a basket, Stockholm holding Cincinnati, Bogota, Nairobi, and Tokyo all follow Raquel inside.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he asks, loudly enough that he hears footsteps from the kitchen and Martín comes running out barefoot, still shirtless and frankly, making Andrés regret ever opening the door.

“What?” Martín gapes as he lowers his gun. He blinks rapidly as he takes in all the people standing in the hallway. “Andrés, what’s happening?”

Andrés scowls. “That’s just what I was trying to figure out, cariño.”

“Maybe we should all sit down?” Sergio suggests as if it’s his house.

Martín comes to stand beside him as Andrés gestures towards the living room. “This way,” he says a little stiffly.

“Maybe Palermo should put a shirt on. There are kids here you know,” Tokyo says as she files past and Andrés is tempted to shoot her on the spot. Nairobi throws him a sympathetic look, and shr's only one who hugs both him and Martín as she goes past.

It’s during the hug that Andrés realises she has a baby strapped to her back in a carrier. He and Martín exchange a look and follow everyone into the living room, with Martín veering off into the kitchen to retrieve his shirt.

When everyone has gathered in the living room, piling onto Andrés’ carefully selected sofas and loungers, and Andrés has settled in his favourite armchair, with Martín perched on the arm, he raises an eyebrow at Sergio. “Not that I’m not happy to see you all, but… I’m not. Why are you here?”

He glances up at his husband as Martín rests a gentling hand on the back of his neck and then returns his focus to his brother.

Sergio steps forward and pulls out a red envelope. “It’s about this. Have you received one?”

Andrés holds his hand out for it and Sergio rolls his eyes, but walks forward to give it to Andrés.

It’s nothing special, thin paper and the words “Professor & Lisbon” printed on it in thick black letters. He feels Martín shift next to him, leaning over so he can see it too. Andrés opens it and finds a single sheet of paper inside. He pulls it out and unfolds it, looking at the strings of numbers written on it.

“Coordinates,” Martín says and Sergio nods. “Where are they?”

“They’re where we were,” Raquel says. “Each one of us received the same list of coordinates. The only location that isn’t on there is yours, here.”

Andrés raises an eyebrow. “All of you received a list? With your codenames on them?” Everyone nods. “And Martín and I’s location wasn’t on there?”

“No, yours was the only one,” Sergio confirms.

“So you all contacted your handlers who contacted the Professor and Lisbon and then… you all decided to come here – to the one place the people that have probably been watching you don’t know about.” Andrés’ voice has gone soft and dangerous now and Tokyo and Denver have the good sense to look scared. He feels Martín’s hand squeeze his neck reassuringly but this, he cannot and will not let this go. “Did it ever occur to you to not lead them all right here? That you were just putting Martín and I in danger?”

“Andrés,” Sergio says, holding his hands up defensively. “What did you expect us to do? We needed to find somewhere safe to figure out what this means.”

Andrés gets to his feet, dislodging Martín from the chair as well. Across the room, Denver gets up to join Sergio, as if he thinks he’s in danger. “You couldn’t have bought a safe house? Or are you all suddenly not multi-millionaires?”

“Andrés,” Martín says from beside him, his voice quiet but warning.

“No, I won’t accept this. I need you all to leave!” Andrés says and Sergio starts to protest, sputtering about the logistics of it and then Martín is between them, his hands on Andrés’ face.

Andrés tries to shake him off, but Martín’s grip is firm. “No, look at me, mi amor. Let’s go outside a minute, hm? Let’s go talk, just you and me,” Martín says, pushing Andrés backwards until he turns and storms out of the living room ahead of him.

When they’re back in the kitchen, where Andrés wishes they’d been able to stay, with the door firmly shut, he rounds on Martín.

“What were they thinking? They’ve probably just brought whoever found them right to our doorstep!” he says, his voice rising with his anger.

Martín nods. “I know, I know. But we can’t kick them out. They’re scared Andrés and they’re our family. Especially Sergio and Lisbon. And what about the children?”

Andrés steps forward and grips his face. “What about you? We were safe here! You were safe here and now? Who knows what’s going to happen!”

Martín turns his head and presses a kiss to one of Andrés’ hands. “Andrés, I love you and I love that you care about me, but I can take care of myself. Those people out there? They need taken care of too. And Sergio can’t do it. Sure, he masterminded the heists from outside, but he needs distance. He’s no good in the thick of it. You and me? We are.”

Andrés stares at him, once again hit with just how much he loves Martín and how much he wishes he’d got to finish what they’d planned for the evening.

Martín smiles at him, the scars around his eyes prominent in the bright lights in the kitchen. “Besides, we both know that you’d regret it if you sent them away.”

“I don’t like when you’re logical,” Andrés says and Martín laughs.

“One of us has to be. You’re an artist, it’s okay if you aren’t.”

“Yes, that’s why I have you, my engineer,” Andrés says, pulling him in for a kiss. Martín rolls his eyes, but accepts it, fingers gently scratching through the short hair at the back of Andrés neck.

“Enough,” Martín says eventually when Andrés’ hands start to wander. “We have a living room full of guests and a plan to figure out.” He pushes Andrés away, but immediately takes his hand, interlocking their fingers to lead him into the living room.

The others were clearly mid-conversation, but fall silent when they enter.

“Palermo and I, have of course decided that you should stay,” Andrés announces and there are some sighs of relief. “But we want all the information you have on this situation. No holding back, everyone tells everyone else everything. No secrets, okay?”

“First of all,” Martín asks. “Where are the others. Manila, Marseille, Rio, and Helsinki?”

His voice remains steady, but Andrés can feel the way his hand tightens, betraying the depth of his concern.

“They’re on their way,” Sergio says, his face a little sweaty as he pushes his glasses up his nose. “They should be here by tomorrow morning.”

Andrés sees the minute way Martín’s shoulders lose their tension and he rubs a comforting thumb over the back of the hand he’s still holding. Martín flashes him a brief smile.

“Right, then I suggest we sort out sleeping arrangements,” Andrés says. “We only have three guest bedrooms so everyone else will have to make do – especially when the others arrive.”

“Only?” Nairobi snorts and Andrés ignores her.

“Martín, cariño, where do you want people?” he asks, turning his back to the others, deferring to the fact that his husband has much better special reasoning than he does.

Martín frowns and Andrés can practically see the gears whirring in his beautiful brain.

“The Professor, Lisbon, and Paula in the room next to ours. Nairobi, Bogota, and the baby can go in the room overlooking the pool with Stockholm, Denver and their kids in the room opposite. Tokyo, you can sleep in the studio – the sofa pulls out – and then share with Manila when she gets here. Marseille, Helsinki, and Rio will have to make do with the sofas in here,” Martín says, mostly to Andrés since the rooms will mean little to the others.

“Will you be alright with Paula sleeping with you?” Andrés asks Raquel in an attempt at civility.

She hesitates then nods. “It’ll be fine – I mean if you had an air mattress that would…” she trails off as Nairobi and Tokyo start giggling at Andrés' obvious disgust at the thought of owning an air mattress. “It will be fine, thank you.”

Andrés nods and gestures for everyone to follow him. “Right, let’s get everyone to a bed. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“The kitchen is just down there if anyone is hungry or thirsty,” Martín adds, shooting Andrés a reproving look. Andrés sighs but squeezes Martín’s hand again.

Everyone follows them out into the hallway and Martín points at a door opposite the living room. “Tokyo, that’s the studio. There should be bedding in one of the cupboards,” he says and she nods, opening the door just enough to deposit her backpack before stepping back out, clearly intent on getting the tour.

“Don’t touch any of my paintings,” Andrés adds and Tokyo rolls her eyes at him.

“Like I want to see any of your creepy pictures of Palermo’s face,” she spits.

Andrés grins. “They’re of his dick actually,” he says, making both Martín and Stockholm blush and Raquel glare at him, while holding her hands over Paula’s ears.

“Right,” Martín clears his throat. “Um, there’s a bathroom just over there if you need it. All the other bedrooms have en-suites.”

He drags Andrés ahead of the others, his grip on his hand tightening. “I am going to kill you for that,” Martín hisses and Andrés grins instead of apologising. He's always liked when Martín gets riled up.

They head upstairs, the others clattering behind them and Andrés tries not to think of the mess they’ll be leaving behind when this is all over.

At the top of the stairs they turn left and lead everyone to the two doors at the end of the hall. “This is our bedroom here,” Andrés says, gesturing at the door to his right. “So Sergio, you and your family are in here.”

Sergio smiles gratefully, Raquel already chivvying Paula into the room next to Andrés and Martín’s, no doubt wanting to get her to sleep as soon as possible.

Nairobi doesn’t seem to have the same compunction about her baby, which to its credit is still asleep in its carrier, now strapped to her chest, darting past Andrés and walking straight into his bedroom.

“Wow,” she says as Tokyo and Denver both follow her in. “You guys went all out. We could all fit in here.”

Andrés scowls, striding after her. “Yes, but I don’t want you to. Get out.”

Tokyo grins salaciously at him as she walks around the room, looking at the art Andrés had picked out for the walls. “Why, afraid we might find something... private?”

Before Andrés can answer, Denver has opened the door to their walk-in wardrobe that doubles as a dressing-room. “You have a whole room just for your suits?” he asks and Andrés sighs.

He can hear Martín laughing behind him and decides it’s probably pay-back for what he said downstairs.

“It’s a very nice bedroom – nice house,” Stockholm says quietly. She looks dead on her feet and Andrés takes pity, deciding to ignore the other three.

“Let’s go to your room next,” he says and she smiles, readjusting Cincinnati who is asleep on her hip. Denver had placed the carrier with their other child on the floor and seems to be too preoccupied with exploring Andrés’ closet to notice his wife. Andrés rolls his eyes and gingerly picks up the carrier.

“What’s its name?” he asks as he and Stockholm follow Martín out into the hall where Bogota is still standing, the only one to not have walked right into Andrés’ private space.

“Her name,” Stockholm corrects. “Her name is Tennessee.”

“That’s pretty,” Martín says, when Andrés doesn’t respond. “What about yours, Bogota?”

Bogota smiles, glancing over his shoulder at where Nairobi can be seen inspecting Andrés 100% Egyptian cotton sheets. “Ibiza,” he says and Martín snorts.

“That’s a stupid name,” he says matter-of-factly and Bogota shrugs.

“Sure, just don’t let Nairobi hear you say that.”

They stop at the other end of the hall from where Andrés and Martín’s room is. Andrés opens the door and ushers Stockholm in. “This is yours. Bogota, you and Nairobi are over there, the door by the stairs.”

Stockholm crosses the room to carefully put Cincinnati on the bed and Andrés follows her, placing baby Tennessee beside him. He’s taken aback when Stockholm suddenly turns and wraps her arms around him.

“Thank you, Berlin,” she says as he carefully returns the hug, looking over her shoulder to see both Martín and Bogota grinning at him.

“Um, you’re welcome,” he says and she lets go of him, her eyes a little wet, but her expression resolute. He looks between her and Bogota. “Do you two think you could go get your idiots out of my room now?”

Bogota grins and Stockholm smiles too, both turning and heading back down the hall.

When they do eventually manage to get everyone to their own rooms and settled, Andrés flops onto his bed with a sigh. Martín crawls up next to him, head finding its way onto his chest.

“Not exactly how I thought tonight was going to go,” he murmurs into the fabric of Andrés shirt.

“Not at all,” Andrés agrees, wrapping an arm around Martín’s waist. Martín presses a kiss to his neck and Andrés tightens his grip on him. “This is all going to work out, isn’t it? I mean, we don’t know who sent the notes, but it wasn’t law enforcement was it?”

Martín doesn’t move, but Andrés can feel how he tenses. “I don’t think that if Interpol or the Spanish police knew where we are, they’d send a note to let everyone know. But I think we’ll be okay. We’ve made it through so much, I doubt there’s anything that can stop all of us once we’re together.”

Andrés kisses the top of Martín’s head and tries very hard to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also (slightly) fun fact, Denver and Stockholm's new baby is named after one of my cats... what can I say, I like country music  
> Stay tuned for the arrival of Helsi, Andrés continuing to be a dick about people being in his space, and more info on the red envelopes (oooh is that me trying and failing to build tension? yes, yes it is)


	2. Chapter 2

Martín wakes to the sound of a crash echoing up from the kitchen followed by loud laughter. Beside him, Andrés groans and pushes his face into Martín’s chest.

“I hate this,” he mumbles and Martín strokes his hair.

“What do you hate more? The fact that we’re all in potentially life threatening danger or that there are other people in your house?” Martín teases.

Andrés groans again. “The second, definitely the second.”

“You’re very dramatic, mi amor.”

There’s another crash and Andrés sits up, the top of his head nearly colliding with Martín’s chin. “The first is no longer a problem since I’m going to kill them myself.”

He makes to get out of bed, but Martín holds him back. “Absolutely not. The minute you go out there we won’t have another moment of peace for the rest of the day.”

“But my countertops,” Andrés says and if it were anyone else Martín would say he’s pouting.

Martín shrugs. “It’s up to you, cariño. Either go out there and yell at what is probably just the children, or…”

Andrés grins wickedly and it still thrills Martín after all these years to finally have that smile directed at him. “Or what, Martín?”

“Or,” Martín says, climbing out of bed and walking across the room. “You can come fuck me in the shower.”

He’s pushed up against the bedroom wall before he can make it to the bathroom.

“Well,” Andrés purrs, his face inches from Martín’s. “I didn’t have that shower bench installed for when I’m old.”

Martín scoffs. “Like you aren’t already old,” he says teasingly which has the desired effect of riling Andrés up just enough to lift Martín off the ground. He quickly wraps his legs around his husband, back still braced against the wall.

He grins and Andrés kisses the smile right off his face.

“How’s that for old?” Andrés says a little breathlessly when they part.

“Not bad. Why don’t you put me down and we’ll go get that shower?”

After another lengthy kiss, Andrés does put him down, immediately dragging Martín off into the bathroom.

When they eventually make it to the kitchen, Martín’s hair is still damp and Andrés looks so smug that the minute Tokyo sees them from where she’s scrambling eggs at the kitchen island she fake retches into the bowl.

“Do you two think of nothing else?” she asks and Andrés scowls.

“Well you interrupted our celebration last night,” he spits and Martín sighs, leaving his husband to his squabble in favour of making coffee.

Stockholm smiles at him from where she’s buttering toast for Cincinnati. “What were you celebrating?” she asks kindly.

Bogota looks up from where he’s feeding Ibiza and grins. “I’m not sure we want to know.”

“New countertops,” Martín says, pouring coffee from the French press into the stoneware mugs Andrés claimed not to be able to live without.

Stockholm’s smile wavers a little and Bogota laughs as Tokyo dramatically takes a step back from the counter she was working at.

“Don’t be childish,” Andrés tells her, rewarding Martín with a kiss when he hands him his coffee.

“Who’s being childish?” Lisbon asks, entering the kitchen with Paula and Sergio, closely followed by Nairobi and Denver who is holding Tennessee.

“Tokyo,” Andrés replies at the exact same time as Tokyo says: “Berlin.”

Lisbon and Sergio share a look and Sergio sighs. “This is going well.”

Martín decides to take charge before it devolves into general bickering. “Tokyo, how many eggs are you doing?”

She actually looks a little ashamed when she says: “Just enough for me and Stockholm.”

He grabs another carton from the fridge and puts it down in front of her. “Make more.”

Andrés is grinning a little too carefree for Martín’s liking so he puts his husband in charge of making more coffee.

“We’re going to have breakfast together like civilised people,” Martín says when Andrés raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “The children are of course exempt, if they’re too hungry,” he says to Lisbon.

“I’m not a child,” Paula says and both Lisbon and Sergio raise their eyebrows.

Martín nods. To be fair to the girl she must be around twelve now. “Of course not, do you want to have breakfast with us?” She nods and he smiles at her. “Good, then you can go help your aunt Nairobi set the table.”

Across the room, Nairobi frowns but nods and holds out her hand, which Paula seems happy to take despite her insistence that she isn’t a child.

“I’ll show them where the dining room is,” Andrés says, abandoning the ridiculous industrial coffee machine that Martín knew he would never admit to not being able to work very well. “I don’t want them using my good dishes,” he says when everyone turns to look at him and Martín shrugs, used to Andrés being particular about his china.

“Okay then, I guess I’m doing the coffee. Lisbon would you mind helping? Tokyo you’re on egg duty, Professor can you do some toast? There’s more bread in the freezer,” Martín directs, deciding to let Bogota, Denver, and Stockholm look after their children.

“Did you steal this from a Starbucks?” Lisbon asks, when she joins him at the coffee machine, carrying extra mugs.

Martín laughs. “No, Andrés insisted we go top of the range, but of course we end up using the French press more than this. It can do everything though: espresso, lattés, cappuccinos, you name it.”

“Oh, can I have a cappuccino?” Bogota asks which leads to everyone else in the kitchen yelling various coffee orders at Martín, culminating in Denver asking whether they have any flavoured syrups.

They do of course, have flavoured syrups, so he and Lisbon spend the next twenty minutes making a bigger variety of caffeinated drinks than Martín has made the entire time they’ve owned the machine.

They finally get everything ready and they sit down to breakfast at the dining table, which for the first time since they bought it seems crowded. Martín sits to the right of Andrés who has positioned himself at the head of the table, looking every inch the lord of the manor he fancies himself to be.

Sergio is opposite him and Raquel takes the other seat next to Martín. Paula is sitting next to Sergio and smiles shyly at Martín when he passes her the toast.

“She likes you,” Lisbon says quietly so that Paula can’t hear her.

Martín snorts into his eggs. “Children don’t like me.”

Lisbon makes a face that says she clearly disagrees, but doesn’t get the chance to say anything because the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes, the chatter stopping immediately and Martín and Andrés get to their feet simultaneously.

Andrés tosses Martín the key for the cabinet on the far side of the room and Martín unlocks it, pulling out the rifles they stashed there when they first moved in.

“Denver, Tokyo, over here,” Andrés orders and they do as they’re told, quickly accepting the guns Martín hands them. Martín passes one to Andrés, keeping one for himself and the four of them make their way into the hallway.

“It’s probably just the others,” Denver whispers.

Andrés shakes his head, taking point. “We can’t take any chances.”

“Agreed,” Tokyo says and Martín is glad that there at least won’t be any arguments over this.

Apparently their years apart and their slight dysfunctions in the bank haven’t impacted their ability to work as a team, because they manage to surround the door and open it, ending with every single one of them pointing a rifle at the people on the other side of the door.

“Get that out of my fucking face,” Marseille says and Martín hears Denver sigh with relief when they confirm that it is just Helsinki, Manila, Rio, and Marseille standing on the doorstep.

Andrés gestures for them all to lower their rifles as the newcomers step inside.

Martín slings his rifle over his shoulder, stepping forward to accept the hug that Helsinki is going in for.

“How are you, my friend?” Helsinki asks and despite the circumstances, Martín has to admit it’s good to see him.

“Alright, how are you? How was the journey?” he asks, ignoring how Andrés is looming behind him. “Are you guys hungry?”

“It was cramped, but no I’m not hungry,” Helsinki says, still smiling.

“What about you gentlemen and lady?” Andrés asks, falling into the role of gracious host that he’s so far been hiding. “We were just sitting down to breakfast.

“I’ll take some coffee,” Manila says, smiling.

Martín sighs. “I’m assuming I’ll be making four coffees then?”

Rio shakes his head. “Not for me, I can’t…” he says and looks down at his feet.

“He doesn’t like the caffeine,” Helsinki finishes for him.

Martín watches as his husband studies Rio for a moment. “That’s alright, Martín has some peach and cherry rooibos that he likes if you’d prefer that?”

Rio nods and Martín smiles. “Okay, I’ll sort the drinks. Andrés, corazón, why don’t you show everyone where they can drop their things and then take them into the dining room.”

Andrés nods and sweeps out his arm like a butler, gesturing everyone to walk ahead of him. “Bring me another coffee, Martín?” he asks over his shoulder, smiling when Martín nods in confirmation.

“I’ll help you with the drinks,” Helsinki says, handing his rucksack off to Rio.

Martín doesn’t miss how Andrés’ step falters for just a moment before continuing on to the living room with the others.

Tokyo wiggles her eyebrows at him as she walks back to the dining room. “Trouble in paradise?” she teases and Martín flips her off.

Helsinki gapes a little as they enter the kitchen. “Your house is very…” he trails off, unsure how to continue.

Martín sighs. “Andrés doesn’t do low-key. But he’s friends with and has made donations to enough of the organised crime families around here that we know about it the minute someone starts asking questions about us. Plus, those Pakistani hackers have been very helpful when it comes to changing names on deeds.”

“I can imagine,” Helsinki says with a grin. “But you like the house too.”

Martín laughs. “Yeah, I do. Who am I to say I don’t enjoy a private beach and three floors of luxury.”

He starts making the coffee, ignoring Helsinki’s mumbled curse when he sees the coffee machine.

“So how have you been?” Martín asks, leaning against the counter as he waits for the cups to fill. “How is your cat? And the boyfriend? Marven, right?”

“Good,” Helsinki says. “We’re good. He was confused about why we had to leave, but he said he’ll look after Copenhagen for as long as we need.”

Martín nods. “That’s good, I’m glad.” He turns to start steaming the milk. “And how are you feeling about all this? The envelopes and the coordinates?”

“I don’t know,” Helsinki says with a shrug. “I thought maybe it couldn’t last, the peace we found. But I’m not frightened. Whatever will happen, will happen. I’m glad that we can all be together though.”

“Me too.”

“What about you guys? The Professor said your coordinates weren’t on there.”

“No, and we never received a letter either,” Martín says, filling up the cups and remembering at the last minute to make Rio some tea. “Andrés… well, he wasn’t happy when everyone first turned up. I had to convince him to let you all stay,” he confesses, but Helsinki doesn’t jump on the statement to immediately vilify Andrés.

“He was worried about you?” Helsinki asks instead, taking a sip of his coffee.

Martín shrugs. “I can’t condemn his priorities when mine are the same in reverse. But we are a family and family is there for each other… especially when a nutcase is sending them envelopes with coordinates.” He checks Rio’s tea and decides it’s strong enough, dumping the strainer with the used leaves in the sink, where it’s sure to piss Andrés off if he sees it later.

He and Helsinki carry the mugs through to the dining room and Helsinki puts his down just in time to catch Nairobi as she throws herself at him.

Martín hands Rio his tea and the boy smiles gratefully. He retakes his seat next to Andrés, now sitting considerably closer as extra chairs have been added to the table.

“Alright?” Andrés asks with a decidedly fake smile.

Martín nods and grips his husband’s hand. “Everything’s fine,” he says and finally goes back to his eggs which are now stone cold. He grimaces when he takes a sip of his coffee which is now, at best, lukewarm.

Andrés rolls his eyes and nudges the coffee Helsinki had just handed him and he was about to drink towards Martín. Martín takes a grateful sip and then hands it back to Andrés who continues to drink it.

“You share drinks?” Cincinnati suddenly pipes up, startling Martín out of the bubble he often finds himself in around Andrés – to be honest he hadn’t realised the child could speak, but he supposes it makes sense. Martín nods and Cincinnati frowns. “Why? You have lots of cups.”

“It’s because they’re gross, cariño,” Nairobi says from a few seats down.

Andrés scowls as everyone laughs.

Stockholm strokes Cincinnati’s hair. “Auntie Nairobi was just joking. It’s because they’re married. Like how papa and I will sometimes share food.”

Cincinnati shrugs, clearly already over his curiosity.

“Denver, why don’t you take Cincinnati and Paula to the living room to watch a film?” Lisbon suggests. “Then we can clear the table and start planning.”

Paula protests and interestingly enough turns to Sergio for help. He just tries and fails to look stern when he tells her to listen to her mother.

When the table is clear and the children over the age of two have been placed in front of Andrés and Martín’s (in Denver’s loudly voiced opinion) obnoxiously large TV, the adults gather around the dining table.

“Let’s see all the envelopes,” Andrés orders and a total of six envelopes are produced. Each is the same shade of red, with uniform black typeface on the outside, spelling out their codenames.

The letters with the coordinates are all identical, with the coordinates in the same order, and Andrés and Martín’s location missing from each one.

“How were they delivered?” Martín asks.

“Ours was mixed in with the regular mail,” Helsinki says. “But there was no address on it, so they must have been hand delivered, right?”

The others nod. “Ours was the same,” Sergio says. “No address, but arrived in our PO box with the other mail.”

“So what do we do?” Rio asks, the one to voice what everyone has been wondering.

Martín looks to Andrés who squeezes his knee under the table.

“First things first, we lock this place down,” André says, his voice calm and commanding. “I’ll call the housekeeper and ask her to leave extra groceries by the front gate. I’ll also tell her to take the next few weeks off. No one comes in, no one goes out of here – understood? Nairobi make a list of everything you and Stockholm will need for your various offspring. Raquel, I’m assuming you won’t need anything special for Paula?”

Lisbon looks a little disconcerted by the question, but shakes her head. Andrés nods and makes to continue talking, but Martín stops him, something nagging at his brain.

“Wait, Andrés said the front gate, we keep it locked but none of you set off any alarms and we didn’t know you were here until you got to the front door?”

Andrés stiffens beside him and they both turn to look at Sergio who is guiltily pushing his glasses up his nose. “Well, we thought it best not to alert anyone to our arrival so I… I had the Pakistani hackers disable your security system – just for last night and this morning.”

“You did what?” Andrés growls and Martín is a lot less inclined to stop him than he was last night. “Do you never tire of playing games, Sergio? What if whoever sent these letters had decided to turn up while we were sleeping?”

“I calculated –“ Sergio begins, but Martín cuts him off.

“I don’t give a fuck. You don’t get to make decisions like that without asking,” he hisses. Sergio nods and Martín turns to Rio. “Can you make sure everything is back to normal if we give you access?”

Rio looks nervous but nods. “Yes of course, I can tighten everything up as well. Make sure no one but us can access the system.”

Martín feels Andrés relax minutely beside him. “We’ll talk about this later, hermanito,” Andrés says to Sergio who sighs but nods. “Good, then we’ll say no more for the time being. Our next move will be weapons. I don’t know if any of you brought anything, but Martín and I do have some things around the house.”

“Like the rifles in your cabinet?” Bogota asks and Martín shrugs.

“We like to be prepared.”

Andrés smiles at him. “And rightly so it seems.”

“The children,” Denver says. “If there’s a fight in or near the house, I don’t want them near it.”

“The wine cellar doubles as a panic room,” Andrés says casually. “You can put them in there.”

Martín rolls his eyes at the other’s shocked looks. “It was a requirement for when we bought the house. Did none of you put any thoughts into how to defend your new lives?” Martín asks as Andrés lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Clearly it’s a very good thing you all turned up here,” he says haughtily. “I shudder to think at us all trying to protect ourselves in Sergio’s beach hut.”

Helsinki and Lisbon both grin a little at that and Martín knocks his knee against Andrés’.

“Any objections to this plan?” Martín asks, although he frankly wouldn’t care if there were any. Everyone shakes their heads and he claps his hands together. “Then let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrés and Martín definitely have a shower like [this](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/329396160250367263/) and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> Hope you guys liked this, your comments are what keep me going!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, time to up the TWs for this chapter, so...  
> TWs for: swearing, referenced not real suicide (it's a dream), and panic attacks,  
> none of it is particularly graphic, but just a heads up

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph why do you have so many fucking guns in your house?” Bogota asks, surveying the guns that it had taken Andrés and Martín nearly an hour to pull from various hidden corners and locked cupboards.

Andrés rolls his eyes. “Why are you all so shocked that we care about personal safety?”

“We do too, but this is just excessive!” Nairobi says. “You have seventeen handguns and eleven rifles!”

“What is it the Americans say?” Martín says, putting down the smoke bombs he’d pulled out of the bathroom cabinet. “Always be prepared. And they’re not all rifles, three are machine guns.”

“Let’s just be grateful that both Berlin and Palermo are psychopaths who decided to have guns instead of babies,” Tokyo says, picking up one of the long-range rifles.

Martín looks faintly murderous so Andrés holds his arm out and Martín easily slides under it, his own arm wrapping around Andrés’ waist. “Yet here you are, taking advantage of our guns and our hospitality, Tokyo.”

“Well, anyway, at least we can defend ourselves now,” Sergio says, stepping forward with a nervous glance at Andrés. “But we need to figure out our next step, maybe go on the offensive.”

Andrés doesn’t reply, and he feels how Martín sighs against him before he speaks instead. “You’re right, hermanito,” Martín tells Sergio and Andrés bites back a grin as Sergio colours and says: “I’m older than you, Palermo.”

Martín waves a hand dismissively as even Raquel laughs at Sergio’s protest. “Whatever. Rio, how is the security system looking?”

Rio looks up from the laptop Andrés had given him. “It’s fine, back to normal but a little better. I’ve also set up a programme that will let us know when any new phones come within a certain radius of the house as an extra precaution.”

Andrés raises his eyebrows, impressed. It’s sometimes easy to forget with everything he’s been through at his young age that Rio is a certifiable genius.

“Well done,” he says and Rio gives him a shy smile.

“So, what now?” Helsinki asks.

Martín shakes his head. “I don’t know. Apart from the envelopes, we have nothing to go on, but it’s not like we can interrogate any of the postal service people from here. I suppose we just have to set up a guard schedule and wait.”

Sergio gets out a notebook and starts to assign people shifts.

“Absolutely not,” Andrés says when he sees Sergio has put him down for a shift from 9pm to 1am and Martín from 1am to 5am. “Everyone else gets to be on-guard at reasonable times with their partners. Why should you and Lisbon get to be on watch together from five till nine?”

Sergio’s jaw clenches as he looks up at Andrés. “I thought you two wouldn’t mind since you don’t have children with irregular sleep cycles.”

Andrés feels Martín’s hand tightening on his waist, but he shrugs him off, stepping forward until he is stood almost toe to toe with Sergio. “And we can’t be on guard together because?”

Everyone else is watching them intently, but thankfully no one says anything as Andrés watched his little brother decide on his next move.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

Sergio makes a frustrated noise. “Don’t make me do this, Andrés.”

“Do what?” Andrés asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I haven’t done anything. I’m not the one who dragged everyone to my brother’s home, putting him and his spouse in danger. I’m not the one who secretly disabled their security system.”

“That’s enough, Andrés!” Sergio says. “This is exactly what I mean. You can’t be rational. It’s why I told you to leave Martín before the Mint Heist, and you’re worse now. You were willing to throw us all out because I endangered Martín. Your selfishness could get us all killed and I thought if you two are on guard together you’d be more concerned about Martín than the rest of us.”

If they were in the middle of a heist and Sergio were anyone else, Andrés would already have pulled a gun. As it is, it’s only Martín’s combination of knowing him well and fast reflexes that stops Andrés from punching Sergio.

Andrés lunges at his brother, but Martín grabs him and pulls him away before he makes contact. Andrés struggles against his husband, but he isn’t willing to hurt him just to get to Sergio.

“Berlin, calm down!” Denver says, getting himself and Raquel between Andrés and Sergio.

Andrés makes another attempt at hitting Sergio, but Denver pushes him back.

“Sergio!” Raquel yells. “What the fuck is going on?”

Andrés barks a cynical laugh because of course Sergio never admitted to his girlfriend what he did all those years ago. “Don’t bother, Lisbon. My hermanito has never owned up to his mistakes.”

“I’ve already apologised,” Sergio says, his face flushed with anger.

“What are you two talking about?” Nairobi asks, face pulled into a frown.

Andrés stops struggling against Martín’s grip. “Go ahead and tell them, hermanito.”

“Professor?” Tokyo asks and Sergio twitches a little with everyone’s eyes on him.

Andrés relaxes enough that he feels Martín’s grip loosen a little. “Tell them, Sergio. Or I will.”

Sergio sags. “It was a long time ago, before the first heist. Berlin and Palermo were planning the heist on the Bank of Spain and I saw that it wouldn’t work. It barely worked this time,” Sergio says, looking around the room as if hoping for support. “Berlin was too close to the plan to see its flaws and Palermo…” Sergio trails off.

“He was too close to me,” Andrés finishes for him and Sergio nods.

Both Helsinki and Nairobi have expressions of understanding on their faces, Helsinki especially and not for the first time Andrés wonders just how much he knows about Martín’s time before they reunited.

“Yes, so I decided to, well,” Sergio dithers, looking unsure and Andrés doesn’t want to look behind him, afraid of the pain he might see on Martín’s face. Sergio takes a steadying breath. “I decided that I needed Berlin for the heist in the mint, but Palermo would have made the whole situation too volatile, too unstable.”

“Sure, because it all went so smoothly without him,” Stockholm unexpectedly says and Andrés finds himself glad that Denver disobeyed his orders in the mint.

“Sergio,” Raquel says quietly, her disbelief and concern written across her face. “What did you do?”

Finally, Sergio has the decency to look ashamed. A vague part of Andrés is aware that Martín is no longer holding onto him at all, but he’s focussed on Sergio. “I did what I had to,” Sergio says and there’s a pleading edge to his voice as he looks at Raquel. “So I told Andrés that Martín was in love with him and because of that he was a risk. And… and I told him to leave Martín behind and come do the mint heist with me.”

There’s silence as the others process what they’d just learned.

“Fuck, Professor.” Tokyo is the first to speak, her eyes wide. “That was cold.”

“So you understand why I was a little pissed off that my brother decided to meddle again!” Andrés says, admittedly a little triumphantly.

Nairobi and Denver seem to be on his side, Raquel looks shocked still, but Helsinki steps forward, too hesitantly for his size. “But Berlin, you were the one who did it.”

“Because he told me too! Because I thought I was dying and I was going to have to leave anyway. But Sergio convinced me to do it then and cut all ties,” Andrés protests.

Sergio groans, running his hands through his hair. “And I’ve already apologised for it!”

“That’s not the point!” Andrés yells, prompting Denver to shift towards him as if worried he’ll attack Sergio again. “The point is that despite that, years later, you still don’t trust Martín and I. Yes, he’s my priority, of course he fucking is! He’s my husband, the person I love the most in this fucking world. That doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to protect everyone else here.”

Sergio has taken a step back in the face of his rage but for once he holds his tongue, letting Andrés continue. “But half the people here are dating or used to. Denver and Stockholm are married too, Bogota and Nairobi have a baby together! Look at you and Raquel! Are you saying that when it comes down to it, you wouldn’t pick her over everyone else?”

Denver turns and looks at Stockholm, and Andrés doesn’t miss how Tokyo gives Rio a sideways glance.

“He’s right, Sergio,” Raquel says. “Either you trust him or you don’t. But you can’t treat him and Palermo differently because you think they’re unable to overcome the instincts that all of us have.”

“None of us are strangers anymore, Professor,” Helsinki says. “We all care about each other.”

Sergio sits down in one of the dining chairs with a sigh.

“Do you really think so little of me, hermanito?” Andrés asks quietly.

Sergio shakes his head. “No, Andrés. I think the world of you. Why do you think I brought everyone here?”

There’s a pause and then Tokyo, being her irreverent self, says: “Alright can you guys hug it out so we can go back to planning?”

There’s a bit of laughter and Sergio looks down at his schedule. “I’ll swap Palermo and Tokyo. So Berlin, you and Palermo are on guard together from 9pm to 1am, alright?”

“It’s better,” Andrés says and a lot of the tension leaves the room as the others realise there’s not going to be more fighting.

“Stockholm, would you be able to check on Paula for me?” Raquel asks suddenly. “I think Sergio and I need to talk.”

Sergio nods, looking more nervous than he had during the entire confrontation with Andrés and follows Raquel out of the room.

Andrés steps forward to look at Sergio’s schedule. “Rio, Manila, it looks like you’re on guard duty until this afternoon. Grab a gun and a radio.”

Rio and Manila do as they’re told, grabbing one of the radios that Sergio had brought with him.

“And now?” Nairobi asks.

Andrés shrugs. “Now we wait.”

* * *

“Are you alright?” Andrés asks later, as he circles the house with Martín, having relieved Nairobi and Bogota at the end of their shift.

Martín nods. He’s been quiet all afternoon and evening and Andrés doesn’t like it. It happens every now and then, that Martín falls into moods that sometimes take weeks for him to pull himself out of. He speaks less, eats less, but drinks, smokes, and sleeps more.

For the last year or so, these episodes have been few and far between, but Andrés worries that the argument with Sergio, dredging up the most painful part of their shared past might trigger another.

“Are you sure?” he asks, stepping in front of his husband to get him to stop walking. “Because you don’t look it, mi amor.”

Martín shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Andrés decides not to push it and they continue their rounds in silence.

They’re halfway through their shift when Martín stops just shy of the gate.

“Do you regret it?” he asks and Andrés turns to look at him.

“Regret what?” he asks, although he has a suspicion of what Martín is going to ask. They’ve had variations of this conversation before.

Martín gestures at their house, where various lights are still on, everyone except Cincinnati still very much awake. “All this, Sergio getting me involved. You could have done the heist without me. You still had all the plans at the monastery, and engineers are easy to find. You could have just continued on without me.”

Andrés shoulders his rifle and reels his husband into his arms. “Could I have found someone with enough knowledge to take your place? Of course. But that doesn’t mean you’re replaceable. And I wouldn’t be happy. You’re my soulmate, Martín.”

Martín sniffs a little against his shoulder. Andrés would never tell Martín, but a part of him is frustrated that his husband won’t understand how important he is, how indispensable he is to Andrés, how loved he is. At the same time, he also understands that for whatever reason, sometimes Martín’s brain just can’t reconcile what happened in the past with what he has now – and that it creates cracks through which doubt can cloud over all the good things he has.

“I love you,” Martín says into Andrés’ collarbone and Andrés presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“I love you too, mi amor. You just need to remember that.”

Martín pulls away and offers him a watery smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know, cariño,” Andrés says quietly.

They’re both tired when Tokyo and Marseille take over from them. Martín doesn’t even bother changing into pyjamas or brushing his teeth, he just strips out of his clothes and collapses in bed.

Normally Andrés would tease him and nag at him until he washed his face and cleaned his teeth, but tonight he lets Martín crawl beneath the covers in their air-conditioned room. The way he immediately pulls them over his head isn’t a good sign, but when Andrés finishes his ablutions and joins him in bed, he readily curls into Andrés’ arms.

Andrés is nearly asleep when Martín speaks. “You shouldn’t have fought with Sergio because of me. He’s right, you aren’t objective.”

“Of course I’m not objective,” Andrés says, stroking a hand through Martín’s hair. “No one is, you heard everyone agreeing with me. Besides, I didn’t fight with Sergio because of you, I did it because he was being a dick and something needed to be done about it.”

Martín laughs a little wetly, his face pressed against Andrés’ chest. “He was being a dick, wasn’t he? Must run in the family.”

“Hey,” Andrés says, prodding him in mock outrage.

Martín pushes closer and Andrés tightens his grip on him.

“You should try and get some sleep, corazón,” Andrés tells him. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. And at least tonight we know everyone is guarded and we’ll be woken if anything happens.”

Martín nods and Andrés pulls the covers back just enough to be able to kiss him.

“Good night, mi amor,” Martín says.

Andrés presses another kiss to his cheek. “Good night.”

Andrés wakes to Martín screaming next to him, his body twisted in the sheets as he thrashes in panic. Andrés sits bolt upright, gun already in his hand as he tries to work out if there’s an intruder in the bedroom.

In the early morning light filtering into the room, he can see there’s no one there. Beside him, Martín lets out another howl like a wounded animal, trapped in a nightmare.

It’s not the first time this has happened. In the first few months after the heist, it would happen a few times a week, but at this point it’s been years since Martín has had night terrors this bad.

“Martín,” Andrés says loudly, hands gripping his husband’s shoulders in an attempt to stop him from strangling himself with his sheets. “Martín you’re fine, you’re alright. I’m here corazón, it’s okay.”

Martín cries out again, his breaths coming too fast, still asleep. There are tears streaming down his face as Andrés kneels over him.

“Wake up, Martín. It isn’t real, you’re just dreaming. Wake up, you’re safe, you’re okay.”

Martín continues to sob hysterically and Andrés shakes him a little, not wanting to hurt him, but unwilling to let him stay in the clutches of whatever dream was terrifying him so.

Martín’s eyes fly open suddenly and he sits up with a start, looking around the room with a panicked expression.

Andrés cups his cheek with one hand, forcing his husband to look at him. “Martín, it’s okay. It was dream. You’re awake now and you’re safe,” he says and Martín nods, flinging himself forward into Andrés’ arms.

His whole body is wracked with tremors and his hands curl desperately into the back of Andrés’ pyjama shirt.

“I know,” Andrés hushes him. “It’s okay, I’m here, it’s alright.”

Martín continues to cry as if the world is crashing down around him and Andrés just holds him. He would never admit how much these episodes scare him, how glad he was when it seems like they were over.

“I was dead,” Martín gasps into his neck. “You never came back and I was dead and there was blood everywhere and you and Sergio just stepped right over me like you didn’t care.”

He seems to have exhausted his words and he dissolves into sobs again.

Andrés hauls him even closer so that Martín is fully on his lap, legs around his waist. “Oh, cariño, that would never have happened,” Andrés assures him. “Even if I’d never come back, learning of your death would have been the end of me. Especially now. But you and I promised we wouldn’t leave each other, didn’t we?”

Martín nods frantically, but he doesn’t stop crying. In fact, his breaths are coming increasingly fast and Andrés is worried that he’s working himself up into a full-blown panic attack.

All of a sudden there’s a knock on the door and before he can answer Helsinki and Stockholm come running in.

“Out!” Andrés orders as they stand in the doorway, staring at Martín who doesn’t even seem to have registered their appearance.

“Sorry,” Stockholm stutters. “We were coming to wake you and then we heard screams.”

Andrés scowls. “I don’t care, get out.”

Stockholm starts backing away, but Helsinki steps forward and drops something on the bench at the end of the bed. It’s a red envelope.

Andrés glances down at it and nods to show he’s seen it. “I’ll deal with it later, now leave.”

Thankfully they listen to him this time and leave the room as quickly as they’d entered.

“Who –“ Martín starts to ask, but Andrés interrupts him.

“It doesn’t matter, Schatz,” he says into Martín’s hair as his husband lets out a choked sob. “You’re what matters and you’re safe. You’re alright, I’m here.”

Andrés continues to stroke Martín’s back, occasionally pressing kisses into his hair as he talks to him. Gentle words that are meant to reassure until Martín’s breathing starts to even out.

“Sorry,” Martín eventually says, his voice hoarse.

“No apologies necessary,” Andrés says immediately. “Everything is fine. You had a moment.”

Martín huffs a breath that could pass as a laugh. “Hell of a moment.”

He separates himself just a little from Andrés who takes the opportunity to kiss him full on the mouth.

“It’s not your fault what your brain decides to churn up at night,” Andrés murmurs against his lips before pulling away.

Martín scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah well, maybe you should trade me in for someone with a better brain.”

Andrés scowls. “Absolutely not. I love you and no one else could possibly compare.”

They sit in silence for a moment, still wrapped tightly around each other.

“Did someone come in earlier?” Martín asks quietly.

Andrés sighs but nods. “Yes, Helsinki and Stockholm.” Martín tenses and Andrés rubs insistent circles into his back. “It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter.”

After a moment, Martín nods too. “What did they want?”

“I don’t know, they left that.” Andrés gestures at the envelope.

Martín extricates himself from Andrés' hold and crawls down the bed to get it. He hands it to Andrés, who flips it over and freezes.

Martín leans over to look and swears.

There on the red paper, in the same black lettering as the others, the envelope is addressed simply to “Andrés & Martín”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congrats on making it through this one, i hope you enjoyed it? Sorry it got a bit more angsty.
> 
> Sergio splitting up Palermo and Berlin is my villain origin story and i just feel like he needed to take more responsibility for it than he did in the past fics of this verse (i still like him as a character tho!). I also feel like Raquel would defo be like: m8 you fucked up, when she finds out about it
> 
> In real life Alvaro is older than Rodrigo, so i thought it would be fun if that was true for their characters (although i believe no one's age is really specified in the show except for Rio??)


	4. Chapter 4

Martín is hesitant to go downstairs, but he knows they need to deal with the letter that had arrived. Andrés said he kicked Helsinki and Stockholm out, but he knows they have seen him at his lowest, his weakest.

“It’s okay,” Andrés tells him as Martín dresses. Nothing close to his usual calibre, his affection for ostentatious clothing having increased mostly because it’s all Andrés buys. Today he’s in a simple t-shirt and jeans. Even Andrés is dressed down in a plain shirt and linen trousers.

Martín nods, letting Andrés take his hand as he digs out the phone they rarely use and then leads him out of the room.

When they go downstairs, everyone else is already gathered, in various states of undress and mostly looking half-asleep. A lot of them are clutching mugs and Stockholm goes to meet them in the doorway of the living room.

“Palermo, would you like some coffee?” she asks, her voice soft, but thankfully Martín can’t detect any pity or condescension.

He shakes his head. “No thank you.”

“Maybe some tea? Like Rio had yesterday?” Andrés asks Stockholm, squeezing Martín’s hand.

Stockholm nods and disappears. Andrés lets go of Martín to hold up the envelope.

“So, as I’m sure Helsinki and Stockholm have informed you we received an envelope while they were on guard. Tokyo, I’m assuming you and Marseille didn’t see anything in your shift before them?” Andrés asks and both Tokyo and Marseille shake their heads. “Alright. Well, at some point someone must have gotten close enough to leave this. Where exactly was it found?”

“It was stuck into the gate,” Stockholm says, reappearing behind them with a cup of tea which Martín gratefully accepts.

“No one came close with a phone,” Rio pipes up, his face paler than usual. Clearly Martín wasn’t the only one struggling with the situation.

Martín swallows a frankly scalding sip of tea. “What about the cameras?” he asks, trying not to flush as everyone stares at him. Despite Andrés’ reassurances, he’s sure he looks awful.

Rio shakes his head. “There’s nothing. Just a person in a mask coming to the gate, leaving the envelope and disappearing again.”

“Show me,” Andrés orders and Rio turns his laptop to show the recording from the security cameras.

The footage is grainy, it was only just getting light when the person arrived. They’re wearing a Dali mask and Martín grinds his teeth. Despite covering their face, and wearing a generic black hoodie, when the person turns away from the gate, and the camera perched on top of it, a long tendril of dark hair escapes the hood.

“It was a woman,” Lisbon says.

Andrés sighs. “I have the feeling that this is all going to get extremely personal.”

Sergio frowns. “What makes you say that?” he asks, speaking for the first time that morning.

Andrés hands him the envelope. “Did any of you have your real names on the envelope?”

Everyone shakes their heads. “It was just our codenames,” Nairobi says quietly, adjusting Ibiza in her arms.

“Which means they either don’t know them,” Sergio says.

“Or they’re specifically targeting us,” Martín finishes for him and Andrés throws him a look that’s meant to be comforting but is laced with concern.

Lisbon leans forward, elbows propped on her knees. “Was there a letter with it?”

Andrés nods, gesturing for Sergio to open the envelope. He pulls out a piece of paper similar to the ones the coordinates had been printed on.

“What does it say?” Bogota asks.

Sergio adjusts his glasses, eyes scanning the paper. “It just says: We want what’s ours.”

Martín sighs and looks at his husband. “I think you’d better place that call, mi amor.”

Andrés nods as the others look confused.

“Who are you calling?” Tokyo asks.

“A friend from here in the area. She has a lot of connections and when Andrés called the housekeeper yesterday, he also called in a favour and asked our friend to have some of her… subordinates keep an eye on our neighbourhood – covertly of course,” Martín explains as Andrés steps away to make his call.

“Tuyen, how are you?” Martín hears him say into the phone before he leaves the room. Martín could have called too, but Andrés’ Vietnamese is better than his.

There’s a brief moment of silence as the others digest that information.

“What did Berlin do to have someone like that owing him a favour?” Denver asks.

Martín shrugs and takes another sip of tea. “It’s not that mysterious, he sourced a rare painting for her that she wanted to gift to her son for his wedding. He still has a lot of connections in the European art scene.”

Denver still looks confused but Martín is too exhausted to get into it anymore so he goes and joins Helsinki on one of the sofas where he’s got a sleeping Cincinnati on his knee. Helsinki doesn’t say anything, but he does gently bump his foot against Martín’s in silent support. Martín flashes him a smile, resting his head on the back of the sofa, eyes sliding shut.

He almost misses it when Andrés re-enters the room, but thankfully Helsinki nudges him.

Andrés’ eyes immediately find his, his gaze serious. “Tuyen says one of her boys did see someone approaching the house. Definitely a woman, definitely white European. Dark hair, dark eyes. They tailed her to a house, but they don’t think she’s there alone.”

“Police?” Nairobi questions.

Andrés shakes his head. “They don’t think so.”

“Then who is it?” Denver asks, the frustration clear on his face.

Andrés smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I suggest we go and find out.”

Sergio surges to his feet. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting, hermanito, that we go after the people who have us all cowering here like children. This is a game to them and I’m tired of playing it,” Andrés says.

Martín’s stomach is in anxious knots, but he nods. “I agree. We shouldn’t have to hide just because they know who we are. We need to go on the offensive.”

The others look split. Tokyo, Denver, Helsinki, Manila, Marseille and surprisingly, Lisbon all look determined and ready to fight. But Rio, Stockholm and the Professor especially look unsure, and Martín can’t work out from the looks they’re exchanging what side Nairobi and Bogota are on.

“We don’t all need to go,” Andrés says. “In fact, some of us should definitely be here to keep the house and the children safe. But I won’t sit here and wait for these fuckers to try making demands of us. We robbed the mint and the fucking Bank of Spain. We’re not petty thieves that anyone can push about.”

Tokyo cheers, her eyes alight with the fire that Martín recognises from the heist. “Fucking finally,” she says.

Andrés looks at Sergio and a small part of Martín is annoyed at how he still looks to his younger brother after all they’ve been through together - after all Sergio has done to them.

Sergio hesitates, but eventually sighs. “Okay. But be smart about it, I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Who’s going in?” Rio asks, his jaw clenched in determination, but Martín can see how his hands shake.

“Berlin should lead,” Sergio says and no one disagrees. Martín is relieved, that argument would have been ugly.

Andrés gives a curt nod. “Who else?”

“I won’t force anyone,” Sergio says.

Lisbon gets to her feet. “I’ll go. If there is any law enforcement there I can be helpful.” Sergio looks like he wants to protest, but when Lisbon looks at him fiercely, he just nods.

“I’ll go too,” Helsinki rumbles from next to Martín.

“I’m obviously going,” Tokyo says firmly.

Andrés appraises her. “As long as you follow orders.”

She scowls, but nods. “Fine,” she says, then jerks her head at Martín. “As long as Palermo does too.”

“He’s not going,” Andrés says just as Martín is about to tell Tokyo to go fuck herself.

“Wait, what?” Martín asks, levering himself off the sofa and walking towards his husband. “What do you mean I’m not going? Of course I am, you can’t leave me behind.”

Andrés raises his chin. “No, you’re staying here.”

“Andrés,” Sergio says warningly, but they both ignore him.

“I’m going with you!” Martín insists. When Andrés just stares him down, he growls in frustration. “Andrés, you are not leaving me. If this is because of last night then you can go fuck yourself. I’m fine!”

“What happened last night?” Tokyo asks.

“Shut up!” both Andrés and Martín yell, not even turning to look at her.

Andrés steps towards Martín, hand lifted as if to touch, but he stops just shy of Martín’s shoulder. “It’s not about last night. It’s about your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“I know they’re better than they were. I know that your vision has recovered a lot. But tell me honestly that if we go in there with smoke grenades and gas masks that you’ll be able to shoot accurately.”

Martín grinds his teeth together. He wants to argue that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll be fine, but Andrés is right. His vision just isn’t what it used to be. Most things are fine, but he can’t read for any length of time and if he’d bothered to get his license the legal way, he’s sure he wouldn’t be allowed to drive anymore. He’d be fine outdoors, in daylight, but the risk of not being able to aim well in an enclosed, smoky room and shooting one of the others is high.

“Fine,” he spits and he hopes he’s the only one who sees how relieved Andrés looks.

“How will we get there?” Helsinki asks, breaking the silence.

Andrés doesn’t look away from Martín as he answers. “Tuyen said she’ll have one of her guys drop off a van with some supplies. Masks, vests, extra ammunition and such.”

“Jesus, how badly did she want that painting?” Manila asks.

Andrés looks over at her, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smirk, but doesn’t reply.

“I suggest everyone starts preparing,” Sergio says. “You’ll want to leave as soon as possible and a lot of you are still in pyjamas.” He eyes Tokyo who is just in pants and a t-shirt and Denver who is in a tank top and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“I’m going to get changed,” Andrés announces as the others laugh at Sergio. He holds out his hand in a silent question to Martín. Martín hesitates, aware of some of the others looking at them, but he grabs it and follows Andrés up to their bedroom.

Martín sits on the bed, knees pulled up to his chest as Andrés changes.

“Are you really going to wear a suit, cariño?” Martín asks as he watches his husband select a black suit and a matching shirt in the same shade.

Andrés gives him a brief smile. “I’m not going to apologise,” he says. When Martín frowns, he continues. “I’m not going to apologise for making you stay behind.”

Martín scrubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t expect you to. And you’re right, my eyes aren’t good enough.”

Andrés hangs his suit on the door to the wardrobe and crawls onto the bed, shirt still unbuttoned, looking more rumpled than Martín knows anyone else in the house has ever seen him. Andrés takes his hands, kneeling in front of him.

“Yes, your eyes aren’t at their best, but you are a fool if you think that’s the only reason I want you here, mi amor,” Andrés says.

Martín sighs, leaning forward until his head is pressed against Andrés’ exposed collarbone. “I know. You don’t need to protect me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andrés scoffs, wrapping his arms around him. “Have you blocked our wedding ceremony from your memory? I swore to do just that in front of all those idiots who’ve invaded our house with their noisy, sticky children.”

Martín laughs into Andrés’ chest, the noise muffled. “I suppose you did.”

“Exactly, so I’m going to go out there, find whatever bitch is leaving stupid envelopes everywhere and drag her back here so she can answer to us,” Andrés declares. “And while I’m gone, you’ll be here, protecting everyone else and our home.”

“I can do that,” Martín says slowly, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Andrés’ throat.

His husband shivers, hands tightening on Martín’s back. “I swear, the minute everyone else is gone, you’re going to be flat on your back on those kitchen counters,” Andrés growls and Martín smiles against his skin.

Andrés pulls away with a groan and finishes dressing, Martín’s eyes not once leaving him.

“How do I look?” he asks, when he’s done.

Martín gives him a once over. “Beautiful,” he says with a hint of a grin. “Ravishing.”

Andrés adjusts his collar. “Thank you, mi amor.” He sighs. “I suppose we’d better go.”

Martín nods and follows Andrés to the door. He reaches to open it, but before he can Andrés spins him and presses him against the wood.

“A kiss for luck?” he asks Martín with a grin and Martín barely has time to nod in response before Andrés’ mouth is on his.

“Promise me, you’ll come back?” Martín gasps against Andrés’ lips.

Andrés kisses him again, a hard press of his lips on Martín’s. “Of course I will, just promise you’ll be here when I get back.”

“I promise,” Martín breathes before they collide again.

They break apart when someone knocks on the door.

“Berlin? Palermo?” Bogota asks through the door. “Are you coming?”

Martín kisses Andrés one last time and then pushes him away so he can open the door.

“We’re here,” he says and Bogota doesn’t say anything which is probably how the three of them have managed to stay friends for so long.

Almost everyone is waiting in the hall. Denver and Stockholm arrive just after Martín and Andrés, with Stockholm carrying Tennessee, Cincinnati stumbling along behind her.

“I’m coming too,” Denver says, his tone brooking no argument and Andrés considers him for a moment before nodding.

“Alright. We’ll head out to the van and I want everyone to put their vests on immediately. Masks on before we go into the house and do not shoot to kill if possible,” Andrés tells the group that had volunteered to go. They all nod, most of them already holding guns. Marseille hands Andrés and Denver a rifle each.

Andrés turns to Martín and the others who are staying behind. “I recommend you all go down to the wine cellar until we return. It can be locked from the inside and since Palermo and I are the only ones who know the code, no one but me will be able to get in, alright?”

Nairobi looks like she wants to protest but thankfully Sergio takes charge. “Agreed. Will the radios work down there?”

“They should do,” Martín replies. “There’s one downstairs with an emergency phone. It’s set to a specific frequency at all times which Andrés – uh, Berlin should be able to access from the handheld ones you brought.”

Sergio nods. “Good, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Make sure to bring your own weapons too,” Andrés says. “Then let’s go. The longer we wait the bigger the chance that she moves on.”

The goodbyes are kept short. Martín doesn’t need to say goodbye to Andrés, just watches him as he assembles the others. Helsinki does come over for a brief hug which Martín gladly returns.

“Take care of yourself, big man,” he tells him and Helsinki smiles.

“I will. And of him,” he says, jerking his head at Andrés.

Martín grins and claps him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

He resolutely does not watch Andrés leave. The minute his husband and the others are out the door, Martín locks it behind them.

“Do you have everything the kids need?” he asks Stockholm and Nairobi.

Bogota holds up a changing bag. “I’ve probably got enough for a couple days in here, I thought we might be going in the cellar.”

Martín nods. “Manila, Marseille, go and get some water snacks from the kitchen just in case and then we’ll go downstairs.”

“I need to go get Tennessee’s stuff,” Stockholm says and hands her baby to Rio who looks utterly overwhelmed. Stockholm dashes upstairs as Manila and Marseille leave for the kitchen.

Eventually everyone has their things together and Martín leads them down the concealed spiral staircase to the basement. Once there, he enters the code for the wine-cellar that they had turned into a panic room and opens the steel door.

“Your panic room is nicer than any flat I’ve ever owned,” Nairobi says as she steps in.

The walls are lined – of course – with the expensive wine both Martín and Andrés enjoy, but the rest of the room looks a little like a living room with a couple of couches, a small TV and a door leading off to a tiny bathroom.

Martín shrugs. “We didn’t want to be caught out in case of anything happening. It’ll be a bit of a squeeze with all of us, but it should be okay.”

It is a bit tight and Martín fears a little for the delicate bottles of wine considering there are four children there, but Ibiza and Tennessee seem content to sleep and Cincinnati seems fixated on the TV.

Martín finds a stool in the corner, next to the radio, to sit on. He leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. Waiting for Andrés is never something he’s going to be good at.

He starts when he feels someone moving next to him. He opens his eyes and sees Paula carefully placing a pillow from one of the sofas on the floor by his feet, next to where Sergio is sitting.

She glances up at him, her eyes wide. “I can sit here, right?”

Martín glances at Sergio who smiles at tentatively at him and then shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

She settles down, her shoulder brushing his knee.

“Your mother is going to be okay,” Sergio tells her and she nods.

Martín wants to ask them to not have this conversation near him, because he doesn’t want to think about Andrés and Lisbon and the danger they’re putting themselves in. Then Paula looks up at him.

“Do you think so too?” she asks with the sincerity only someone not completely jaded can have.

Martín sees Sergio eyeing him warily. “I think so. Andrés is with her and they’re both competent. So is Helsinki.”

“What about Tokyo and Denver?” she questions.

Martín makes a non-committal gesture with his hand, making her laugh. “They’re idiots, but they’re good at what they do too.”

Paula nods and then turns back to Sergio. Martín watches them talking about a book he’s never heard of for a while, then closes his eyes again.

He feels like they’ve already been there for hours, but he knows it’s only been minutes and he’ll have much longer to wait.

It’s nearly an hour and a half – and god he wishes he hadn’t been keeping track – until the radio crackles. He’s grabbing the receiver before anyone else can even react.

“Berlin?” he asks, deciding not to use Andrés’ real name just in case.

There’s a pause and then, finally, his husbands voice. “Palermo. On our way back, targets contained, wait for us to come get you.”

“Understood Berlin, see you soon.”

The others all look relieved when he turns back to them and he and Sergio exchange a look.

“Wait, did he say targets?” Nairobi asks and Martín nods.

Martín is first through the door when it swings open. Andrés is waiting for him and if almost everyone they know weren’t right there, Martín would have kissed him. Instead, he just wraps his arms tightly around Andrés, his husband returning the embrace despite the bulky vest he’s still wearing.

“The kids should stay down here,” Andrés says over Martín’s head, both unwilling to separate.

Stockholm looks up from where she is still on one of the sofas, with Denver crouching next to her and the children. “I’ll stay with them,” she says.

“Me too,” Bogota says, arms already open to receive Ibiza from Nairobi who looks ready to murder anyone who suggests she stay behind.

Martín disentangles himself from Andrés just as Paula loudly asks: “Where’s my mother?”

Andrés looks at her. “She’s upstairs, looking after our guests. She’ll come down to see you soon.”

Paula nods in a way Martín is sure he’s seen Lisbon do.

“Stockholm, close the door when we’re gone, but don’t worry you can open it from the inside,” Martín says and she nods. Denver kisses her and then steps out to join the others.

“We’ll be back soon,” Sergio tells Paula and then they leave her, Stockholm, Bogota, and the other kids downstairs.

“Where are they?” Martín asks and Andrés’ jaw tightens, betraying his nerves.

“The dining room,” Denver answers for him.

Martín pushes ahead, throwing open the door and then stops dead.

There, tied to the mahogany chairs he and Andrés had picked out together, are two women. One of them is ginger and he recognises her from the television broadcasts about their time in the Bank of Spain. She had Lisbon’s old job before she was used a scapegoat, Alicia something.

It’s the other one who holds his attention though, she has dark hair, clearly the one who left the envelope at the gate and he recognises her immediately.

“Marietta?” he asks, only just stopping his jaw from dropping.

She smiles, her eyes cold as ice. “Hello Martín, I see you finally succeeded in turning my husband into a faggot too.”

Andrés is in between him and Marietta before he can reach her. “Ex-husband, I think you’ll find,” Andrés says.

She laughs. “Yes well, it was good while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

Martín scowls and Andrés shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t. You were a bitch then and you’re a bitch now.”

“Wait,” Nairobi says loudly, stepping forward. “Are you telling me the person who found all of us was one of your ex-wives?”

“Actually, that was me,” Alicia says, tossing her head.

Lisbon, who is sitting in a chair near the hostages, gun pointed straight at Alicia’s head, laughs. “I’m assuming not without help.”

Alicia smiles. “No, of course not. But I had been looking and when I went looking I found Marietta. She was all too happy to help finance a search for you all and she had a lot of information about the sort of places Andrés here would be and the sort of purchases he would make. Once we had that, he was easy to find, but we didn’t know where the rest of you were until you all met up for that little reunion in Australia.”

Martín feels ice flood his stomach. He remembers Andrés trying to convince him not to go to the reunion and him insisting it would be fine. It turns out they were the ones who had lead these harpies to the rest of their family.

Marietta laughs again. “You’re so fucking predictable, cariño. I mean you even reached out to my brother in law’s ex-wife to acquire a painting.”

Sergio joins Lisbon, a gentle hand resting on her shoulder. “So why haven’t you called the authorities?”

“Those bastards? The ones who tried to throw me under the bus? I won’t give them the satisfaction,” Alicia says proudly.

“You said you wanted what’s yours – what does that mean?” Sergio questions and Martín tries to ignore how Marietta is staring at him.

“You screwed us over,” Alicia answers. “In different ways, but still. So we want a piece of the pie. Ten million for each of us and we won’t tell anyone where you are. We’ll leave you alone for the rest of your lives.”

“But you’re here, what if we just kill you?” Denver asks.

Marietta finally tears her gaze away from Martín. “You think we didn’t think of that? We have an automatic email that we have to disable every six hours. If we don’t, it'll send all of your locations, handlers, and every other piece of information we have on you to international intelligence agencies.”

“You’re bluffing,” Martín says and Marietta looks at him again, her eyes nearly black with hatred.

“We aren’t, but do you want to risk it?”

“How do we know that once you have your money, you won’t sell us out anyway?” Sergio asks.

Alicia shrugs. “It’s easy. We have all the information on you in that email and in hardcopy in one location in Spain. One of you comes with us to verify that we’ll destroy the hardcopy. And your little tech-monkey can have the laptop we brought with us to make sure there are no other electronic files.”

Rio blanches when Alicia grins at him and Martín would support it if Tokyo shot her straight in the head like she clearly wants to do.

Denver frowns. “I don’t understand why your ex-wife is here. We never did anything to her.”

Andrés scowls and Marietta grins again. “No, but you used my plan.”

“It was never your plan” Martín growls and she just keeps smiling.

“Wasn’t it though? I believe I was the one who suggested in the first place that robbing the Bank of Spain of its gold would be the greatest possible heist,” she says. “Besides, it’s not just that. Andrés still owes me.”

Martín glances at him and Andrés rolls his eyes. “You can’t really be talking about the diamonds.”

“Of course I am,” Marietta hisses, finally losing her composure. “We stole those diamonds together and you hid them when the police caught you and I never got my share.”

Andrés frowns. “I stole those diamonds alone. I divorced you before the heist.”

“But I planned everything with you. I stole the blueprints, I cased the shop. I did all the work and got no reward!” Marietta says and Martín laughs bitterly.

“You’re really doing all this because of a few diamonds?” he asks and she scowls, baring her teeth.

“Shut up, I won’t be spoken to by someone like you.”

“No, you shut up,” Tokyo says, aiming her gun squarely at Marietta. “Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch? Turning up here and trying to blackmail us all into giving you our money because what? Berlin fucked you and then got bored? At that rate half of southern Europe should be here with you. And you,” she says, turning to Alicia. “You deserve everything you get for what you did to Rio! You tortured him.”

Marietta looks incandescent with rage, but Alicia just shrugs. “It was my job, it’s not my fault I was good at it.”

“And just who do you imagine is going to accompany you to Spain?” Lisbon asks. “None of us are able to risk going back there.”

Martín knows what Marietta is going to say before she says it. “Why, Andrés of course,” she says sweetly.

“Like hell he will!” Martín says and Andrés flings an arm out to stop him from going for Marietta again.

“Enough,” Sergio says. “Marseille, Manila, stay here and watch these two. The rest of you, to the living room.”

Martín gives Marietta one last glare before Andrés half drags him out of the room.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” Martín hisses when they’re in the living room.

Andrés shakes his head, for once looking at a loss for words. “I didn’t know how,” he says softly.

“What are we going to do?” Denver asks the minute they’re all in the living room.

“Maybe we should just do as they ask,” Rio says quietly, his whole body looking as if its fighting the instinct to run.

Tokyo scowls. “I’m not giving them my money.”

“And I’m not letting them drag Andrés back to Spain!” Martín says, a little louder than he means to.

Andrés sighs. “That should be the last of our reasons not to give in. I’d go if I had to.”

Martín freezes. “You would?”

Andrés nods.

“Why?” Martín asks quietly. “Do you… do you want to go?”

“What?” Andrés exclaims. “Of course I don’t.”

“Well you seem pretty willing to!”

Andrés stares at him, incredulous. “If it meant protecting you, I would. But not because I want to go!”

“Guys,” Nairobi says, moving between them. “This isn’t the time!”

Sergio clears his throat. “No one is going anywhere, first things first we need to get a hold of that laptop. To see if they’re telling the truth. They must have it somewhere in their flat.”

Helsinki chuckles suddenly and pulls a small netbook from the inside of his jacket. “You mean this laptop?”

“Oh my god!” Denver exclaims as Helsinki hands it to Rio.

The Serb shrugs. “I saw it in the bedroom and thought it might be important.”

If Martín weren’t married and certain Andrés would commit murder because of it, he would kiss Helsinki now.

Rio is already typing away at the laptop. “It’s password protected,” he says. “But I don’t think it’ll be very hard to get into. There’s no special encryption or anything.”

“Bravo, Rio!” Lisbon says.

“Hey,” Andrés says quietly, tugging at Martín’s shirt as the others gather around Rio. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to leave you, okay? I just feel like this is my fault so if anyone were to go, it should be me.”

Martín wraps an arm around Andrés’ waist, pressing his forehead to his shoulder. “Your self-sacrificing moods are really frustrating, mi amor. This isn’t your fault, you just have terrible taste in women.”

Andrés presses a kiss to the top of his head, just as Rio announces he’s accessed the laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, one of you lovely commenters guessed one of the twists - did any of the rest of you? (I'm only a little mad if you did - joking of course)
> 
> Sorry for the angst, the final chapter will have your promised happy ending and be much more like the fluff you're (sort of) used to.
> 
> Also thank you all for your kudos, comments, and likes/reblogs on tumblr it really means the world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, made it to the last chapter and we're upping the trigger warnings again.  
> TWs for: homophobic language, canon typical violence, canon typical injuries and... death (remember that happy ending I promised before you get angry) - also some smut-adjacent content

Andrés resolutely takes Martín’s hand as they return to the dining room. A few years ago, he might not have done, afraid of showing weakness, of showing that he cares. But now, what has he got to hide? Everyone here was at his and Martín’s wedding, they saw each other through two heists, they’ve seen him at some of his lowest points. And frankly, he doesn’t care what Alicia and especially Marietta think.

“Well, ladies,” Andrés says when they enter the room, making both Alicia and Marietta startle. “You two clearly had a good little plan, but unfortunately for you, we’re much better.”

Alicia’s face remains impassive, but Marietta frowns. She was always quick to anger, feisty, emotional. Once upon a time Andrés had liked that about her.

“What do you mean?” she asks. It doesn’t escape Andrés’ notice that her eyes keep flicking down to where his and Martín’s hands are joined.

Andrés smiles, letting go of Martín’s hand, only to slide an arm around his waist, tugging him close. “Well, you said our little tech-monkey could check that you had no more copies once we’d paid you. His name is Rio by the way, and he already checked. You really shouldn’t leave your laptops lying around.”

Alicia loses her cool expression for just a moment as she glances over at Marietta. That explains who was supposed to hide their laptop, but didn’t.

“So what?” Alicia says. “We still have hardcopies. If we go missing someone will come looking and they’ll find them.”

“Which is why you’re going to tell us where they are and then one of our associates is going to go and retrieve them for us,” Sergio says.

Alicia cackles. “Why would we do that? If you kill us they’ll find you. If you don’t, we’ll tell them and then they’ll find you. Either way, you lose.”

Martín shakes his head. “No, you’re the ones who lose. Lisbon, tell them what we discovered.”

Raquel steps forward, pulling a chair with her so she can sit down in front of Alicia. “I know, Alicia. I know what happened to you – they took your baby, didn’t they? That’s what this is really about, it’s not the money. They took your baby from you after you’d already lost your career, your friends, your husband. But we can help you,”

Alicia scowls, but she doesn’t look away. “You can’t help me.”

“Of course we can,” Raquel says. “He’s in a foster home, right? So we can get someone to pose as a couple wanting to adopt him and once that’s happened, they’ll give him back to you. We’ll get your baby back and a new life. Papers are easy to get, you can go anywhere you want. You can start over.”

Alicia shakes her head. “You’re lying. Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m a mother too. So is Stockholm. And Nairobi – I’m sure you remember how you used her son against her? So we know what it’s like to be separated from our children, it’s the worst feeling in the world. And no amount of money and revenge will make that go away, Alicia. It never goes away.” Raquel’s voice is a little thick, as if she’s holding back legitimate tears. Andrés has never understood the appeal of children, but clearly Alicia’s child has a lot of power of her.

“Alicia don’t listen to them!” Marietta pipes up. “They’re liars, criminals!”

Martín barks a laugh and Andrés tightens his grip on him. “You aren’t really one to talk, Marietta.”

Her eyes narrow as she turns her head to glare at them. “At least I’m not some disgusting poof,” she hisses. Martín just smiles sickeningly sweet and presses a kiss to Andrés’ cheek.

Andrés can’t help but smile at his husband before he returns to his ex-wife. “See, this is exactly why I divorced you Marietta: you’re a homophobic bitch. But you’ve made this whole thing a lot easier,” he tells her. “You were right, you know? I am predictable, I like my creature comforts. But you’re predictable too. Those jewellery stores in Hanoi that were broken into last week? I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time, but now I know you’re in the country it’s obvious. They reek of your feeble theft techniques.”

“I’m a better thief than you ever were,” Marietta says and Andrés laughs.

“No you aren’t. You’re pathetic. But the local police were very interested in hearing that they have the opportunity to make such a high-profile arrest. I imagine the jewels are still in your apartment? You’ll hardly have had the time to find a fence here.”

Marietta has been caught and she knows it. “You called the police? You’re internationally wanted criminals!”

“A friend of ours called the police,” Martín corrects. “And I think you’ll find that to the police force in this region, we’re just the incredibly generous foreigners who helped considerably inflate their yearly budget.”

“And Vietnam doesn’t have an extradition treaty with Spain,” Andrés adds with a smile. “I think you’ll find them entirely uninterested in anything you have to say. And you have no proof – I doubt you know any of those coordinates you figured out off the top of your head.”

“It will be easy to tell the police she had an accomplice,” Raquel says to Alicia who had observed the whole thing in silence.

“You’re lucky,” Martín tells Marietta. “They abolished capital punishment for robbery. The jails aren’t pleasant though. Especially for pampered Europeans.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she spits and he grins.

“I’d like to see you try,” he says and Andrés has literally never loved him more.

“What’s it going to be Alicia?” Raquel asks, ignoring Marietta who is still spewing curses under her breath. “Jail here in Vietnam? Or a chance to get your baby back, to start your life over.”

Andrés watches as Alicia thinks, her gaze calculating. She looks at Marietta who is glaring at her, and then back at Raquel. “The hardcopies are in the safe in my house. The access code is 738263.”

Sergio nods to signal that he’s taken down the number. “Thank you. Friends of Berlin and Palermo will escort you back to Spain. There’ll be someone there to meet you, who will take you to a safe-house until you get your son. Then you’ll disappear and you’ll never, ever come near any of us again.”

“If you do,” Andrés says, stepping towards Alicia. “I will personally put a bullet in your brain. The same goes for you, Marietta. If I hear anything about you stirring up trouble you’ll be dead before you know it. There isn’t a place on this earth that we can’t reach you.”

Marietta doesn’t say anything, but Alicia looks vaguely impressed. “Understood.”

The doorbell goes and Andrés smiles. “Looks like your escorts are here. Tokyo, Denver, go let them in.”

Tokyo and Denver disappear and then re-enter shortly with six of Tuyen’s men behind them, all armed and wearing vests.

“Thanks for coming,” Andrés says in Vietnamese, nodding at Chinh, Tuyen’s son who is leading the group. He points at Marietta. “That one is going to the police, the other one is going to Spain.

Chinh nods. “Okay, we’ll handle it from here. Can you make some room? It’s pretty crowded here.”

Andrés flicks a hand at the rest of the gang. “Everyone except Lisbon, the Professor, and Palermo clear out.”

There are some grumbled protests from Denver and Nairobi, but they comply.

Chinh nods when the room has been sufficiently cleared. “Untie them and then handcuff them instead,” he tells his men.

They move efficiently and Andrés watches as they untie Alicia and Marietta, handcuffs at the ready and weapons pointed. Alicia scowls but doesn’t resist as one of Chinh’s men handcuffs her hands behind her back.

Marietta is compliant too, but then as one of them moves behind her to handcuff her, she suddenly throws her head back, her skull crunching into his nose. He cries out in pain, one hand flying up to his face and Marietta grabs his gun from the other.

Within seconds, all the guns in the room are pointed at her.

“Marietta,” Andrés says calmly, gun aimed at her chest. “Put the gun down.”

She laughs. “Fuck you, Andrés. I’m not going to fucking prison. Tell everyone else to lower their weapons and let me leave.

“You’ve got to know that’s not going to happen,” Martín says and Marietta turns to him, gun levelled at Martín’s heart.

“I have had quite enough of you, you fucking faggot!” she yells. Andrés tries to move just enough so he’s angled in front of his husband, but of course Marietta notices. “No Andrés, move away.”

He shakes his heads. “Make me,” he says which in hindsight is the wrong thing to say.

The next thing he knows, she’s flicking off the safety on her gun which is still pointed at Martín. Andrés moves instinctively, as does Chinh, who is stood behind Marietta.

There is the sound of guns firing and Andrés drops to the floor in front of Martín, his right leg buckling as a burning feeling engulfs it. In front of him, Marietta falls face-forward onto the ground and he can see the blood spreading from the wounds in his back.

“Andrés!” Martín’s face appears above him, his expression frantic, hands splattered with blood.

“Martín, did she hit you?” Andrés asks, fixated on the red dripping off Martín’s hands.

Martín shakes his head, eyes filling with tears. “No, no, she hit you. Your leg,” he says. “You moved in front of me, you stupid fucking idiot.”

“Like I was going to let that bitch shoot you,” Andrés says and then Martín is pulling him into the most aggressive kiss of his life. Andrés grasps the back of Martín’s neck, probably too hard, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Hey!” someone shouts behind them and they break apart to see Raquel standing over them, an incredulous look on her face. Behind her, Sergio is sitting in a chair, face buried in his hands. “Now is not the time!” Raquel says. “Andrés you have been shot, you’re literally bleeding onto the floor, and your ex-wife is dead. Is now really the time to be making out with your husband?”

Andrés scowls, but does let go of Martín when a wave of pain makes him dizzy. “Maybe you’re right, hermanita.”

Raquel looks surprised, but nods. “Yeah, I am actually. Can you ask those guys to get you a doctor or something? Do you have a first aid kit somewhere?”

Martín helps Andrés sit up a little. He looks over at Chinh who is kneeling next to Marietta.

“She dead?” Andrés asks, ignoring how woozy he feels.

Chinh nods. “Vâng,” he says. “Want us to get rid of her?”

“Please,” Andrés says. “And do you think you could get your mother's private doctor here?”

Chinh looks at Andrés’ leg and smiles. “Of course. Anything for the man who got me a Cézanne for my wedding.” He turns and barks orders at his men, then pulls out his phone to hopefully call the doctor.

Andrés watches as two of them grab Marietta and carry her outside. Maybe if she hadn’t just shot him, Andrés would feel sort of sad that she’s dead. As it is, he’s just glad she’s not threatening his family anymore. He collapses back towards the floor, landing in Martín’s lap and Raquel kneels at his feet, pressing a strip that he’s certain came from his handwoven tablecloth to his leg.

“Chinh is calling Tuyen’s doctor,” Andrés tells Raquel and she nods. Suddenly, the doors open and the others come storming in.

“What the fuck happened here? We just saw those guys carrying out your ex-wife’s body,” Tokyo asks and Andrés sighs, closing his eyes as Sergio starts to explain.

“Hey, Denver, there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen under the sink. Go get it?” Martín asks and Andrés smiles as he feels his husband running a hand through his hair. There’s footsteps and he assumes Denver is leaving to get the first aid kit.

“How are you feeling?” Martín asks and Andrés blinks up at him.

“Fine, it barely even hurts anymore,” Andrés says honestly.

Martín sighs. “That’s probably the blood loss and shock.” His voice betrays his worry, but his eyes are gentle.

Andrés laughs. “You’re pretty when you’re frustrated.”

Martín flushes. “Okay that’s enough from you. Just lie still until the doctor gets here.”

Thankfully, Doctor Ngô arrives quickly. Chinh leads him into the dining room and he immediately takes over from Raquel who was still pressing the gauze Denver dug out of their first aid kit to Andrés’ leg.

“Did the bullet come out?” he asks in Vietnamese.

Andrés feels Martín nod above him. “Yeah, it’s in the wall,” he tells the doctor and Andrés groans. “It’s okay, we’ll get the wall fixed,” Martín says soothingly.

“I’m going to give you morphine,” Doctor Ngô says and moments later Andrés feels the pleasantly floaty feeling of the painkiller entering his bloodstream.

“Martín, can you get him on the table so I can stitch him up?” the doctor asks. Andrés doesn’t hear what his husband answers, but he enjoys the way he can feel the rumbling in Martín's chest when he speaks, his face pressed to Martín’s sternum.

He only vaguely notices when Martín, Helsinki, and Denver lift him up onto the table.

“No, the mahogany,” he mumbles. “The blood’ll stain it.”

“Shh, mi amor,” Martín tells him. “It’s okay. It’ll wipe right off.”

Martín keeps his hands on Andrés’ face and he thinks he drifts off. He snaps to attention again when Doctor Ngô pats his other leg. “Okay, I’ve patched up your thigh. It was a through-and-through so you should be fine. I’ll leave your painkillers, anti-biotics and the schedule for them with your husband, but you should call again in a few days and I’ll come and check up on you and the stitches.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Andrés says, holding his hand out which Doctor Ngô shakes. “Chinh?”

Chinh steps forward. “Hey, we put the woman in your downstairs bathtub just until it gets dark, we’ll come back for her then.”

“Perfect,” Martín says even as Andrés laments his pristine porcelain tub. “What about Alicia?”

“Already on her way to the airport,” Chinh says and Andrés relaxes.

“Thank you, Chinh,” Andrés tells him. “And tell your mother we’re indebted to her as well. We’ll have her round for dinner once our guests have departed – you and your husband are welcome too of course.”

Chinh smiles. “I’ll see you then.” He nods at his remaining men and they leave the dining room.

“Martín?” Andrés asks, trying not sound whiny. “Help me to the living room?”

Martín frowns. “You should be going to bed, cariño.”

“No,” Andrés shakes his head. “The living room? Please?”

Martín sighs, but waves Denver and Helsinki back over. Together the three of them lift Andrés out of the dining room and get him situated on one of the sofas, tucked up against Martín’s side.

The others join quickly and soon everyone is sprawled on the furniture or on the floor. Andrés watches through half-closed eyes as Ibiza wobbles towards Cincinnati who doesn’t look impressed by her attention.

“So what now?” Manila asks, her arms around Tennessee who is grabbing at her hair.

Raquel grimaces. “I suppose we go back to living our separate lives. Although I think we’ll all have to move. I know Alicia won’t say anything, but we can’t guarantee no one else will follow her thinking. And we probably shouldn’t have any more reunions. That’s how they found us after all.”

Tokyo sighs. “We shouldn’t have to move again.”

“Ugh, I wish we could all just live in a house together,” Denver says wistfully. “Like we are now.”

“Oh god, no,” Andrés groans making everyone laugh.

“Maybe an island instead of a single house,” Nairobi suggests.

Everyone starts chattering about what it would be like to live on an island together, but Andrés is distracted by how Martín has gone still and seems to be having a telepathic conversation with Sergio. Andrés looks between them.

“Martín? Hermanito? What’s going on?” The others quiet down at Andrés’ questions.

Martín makes a gesture towards Sergio who sighs, but speaks. “Well, technically it wouldn’t be the worst idea. We could easily afford it and if we found one with some existing real estate making it a safe compound could be done quite quickly.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Rio asks after a moment of silence.

Sergio nods. “Well,” Martín says. “If it was somewhere near Vietnam or Thailand we’d be able to avoid extradition and Andrés and I already have a few contacts here in Asia. It wouldn’t be as hard as it might seem.”

“Mi amor, are you sure about this?” Andrés asks.

Martín looks down at him. “I know you love this house, but we could build something similar somewhere else. I’m sure we could get Tuyen to help with moving some things across.”

“Being together is a risk,” Sergio says. “But I think it’s been proven twice that being apart is just as much of a risk.”

“Guys are you all absolutely sure about this?” Raquel asks.

Andrés looks up at Martín who is smiling at Nairobi who is dancing around the room with Paula. “Well I am. I’m not sure I want to live in the house I was shot in.”

Martín’s smile widens and he presses a kiss to Andrés’ forehead.

“Holy shit,” Tokyo says, wide smile on her face. “We’re all moving in together!”

“Berlin,” Bogota says with a smirk. “Can we crack open some of the ridiculously expensive champagne I saw in your wine cellar?”

Andrés hesitates a moment then sighs. “Fine,” he says as everyone cheers and Bogota gets up to get the champagne. “But not the Armand de Brignac,” he adds. “That costs five thousand euros and is too good for you heathens.”

* * *

Andrés wakes to frantic knocking at his door. His leg throbs when he tries to move and he groans.

“I’ll go,” Martín says sleepily and Andrés watches as he stumbles to their bedroom door in his underwear, hair sticking up adorably.

Martín opens the door to reveal Tokyo and Nairobi on the other side.

“Palermo!” Nairobi says. “Do you guys have any more towels?”

“What? Why?” Martín asks as Andrés props himself up. “Why are you both wet?”

Tokyo laughs. “We were giving Cincinnati, Tennessee, and Ibiza a bath in the murder tub downstairs and then we figured out that it also has a Jacuzzi function and um…”

“We flooded the bathroom,” Nairobi blurts.

Andrés sits up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “You what?” he yells and Tokyo and Nairobi look over at him as if they hadn’t realised until now that he was there.

“Berlin, I always figured you slept in a suit,” Tokyo purrs, giving his bare chest a once over. “Good for you,” she says to Martín who blushes and scowls at the same time.

“There are towels in the hall cupboard,” Martín says crossing his arms angrily. “Now leave and stop ogling my husband.”

“It’s not our fault the murder tub overflowed,” Nairobi grumbles as she and Tokyo turn and leave.

“It’s not a murder tub! No one was murdered in it!” Andrés yells after them as Martín shuts the door.

Martín sighs as he crawls back into bed, plastering himself to Andrés’ good side. “I hate them.”

“Why did you offer to let them all stay here until the island is ready?” Andrés murmurs into his hair.

Martín kisses his neck. “Because I’m a good person.”

Andrés smiles. “Are you? Because I think you sounded a little jealous when you yelled at Tokyo.”

Martín pouts. “Well I’m sorry that I don’t like her looking at you like you’re her breakfast. But if it annoys you I’ll go find Helsinki and see if he wants to get breakfast.” He makes to get out of bed, but Andrés lunges, wrapping his arms around his husband and pulling Martín back against his chest.

“Absolutely not,” Andrés growls and Martín laughs.

“Now who’s jealous?” Martín asks before Andrés kisses him hungrily. “Okay, enough. As interested as I am – and trust me I am,” Martín gasps as if he needed to tell Andrés. “You need your painkillers and Doctor Ngô will be here soon.”

“Okay,” Andrés says, his hands still on Martín’s ass. “Just give me five more minutes.”

* * *

The palm trees are strung with fairy lights and they’d all had to carry tables out onto the sand, but finally they are all sitting down to another communal dinner in the compound.

“How’s Copenhagen settling into his new home?” Nairobi asks Rio when most people have finished eating.

He grins. “Oh he’s great. I think he misses Marven, but he’ll get used to the house eventually.”

“I live next door, I can come visit him literally any time,” Marven says from where he’s tucked under Helsinki’s arm.

“Cats don’t know what they want,” Martín says, his hand on Andrés’ knee. “They’re like women.”

There are general groans from the women around the table and Andrés hides his grin in Martín’s hair.

“I know what I want,” Paula pipes up from where she’s sitting, opposite Martín. She’d taken a strange shine to him and Andrés had grown used to finding her tinkering with the small engineering projects his husband worked on out on the patio.

Martín smiles. “Yes you do, princesa. And what is it you want?”

“To be the best engineer ever,” she says and Andrés is sure if everyone else weren’t there, Martín would be crying.

Raquel smooths Paula’s hair. “And I’m sure you will be, querida.”

“I can’t believe we’re all here together,” Denver says with a laugh.

Stockholm nods. “It feels like a dream.”

“A dream that we deserve,” Tokyo says lifting her glass of wine.

“The real question is, how are you lot doing together in the big house?” Bogota asks, gesturing at Manila, Tokyo, Marseille, and Rio who had opted to split the biggest house on the island together.

Tokyo launches into her struggle of having to share a bathroom with Marseille and Andrés leans in to whisper in Martín’s ear. “I still think we should have gotten that house.”

Martín grins at him. “I agree, but there’s only two of us and we did get the second biggest even though we don’t have children,” he says in a low voice.

“Thank god,” Andrés says, pressing kiss to Martín’s temple. “What I have planned later is definitely not child friendly.”

“You know, you guys are really not as subtle as you think you are,” Manila says, wagging her finger at them.

Andrés shrugs. “We weren’t trying to be.”

“Ugh just leave,” Denver says, grumpy because Stockholm is pregnant again. At least, that’s what Andrés assumes, he doesn’t really care enough to find out.

“Actually, we’re going to go too,” Nairobi says. “Tennessee needs to get to bed.”

“Martín, can I come over again tomorrow?” Paula asks and Andrés definitely doesn’t feel anything at how happy Martín looks.

Martín nods at her. “Of course, come over and have lunch and then we’ll have a look at that boat engine okay?”

Paula nods excitedly. “Can we have ravioli for lunch?”

“I’m sure we can,” Martín says which means Andrés is going to have to spend all morning kneading since Martín always gets the consistency of the pasta dough wrong.

He gets to his feet and pulls Martín up with him. “Good night everyone, we’ll see you tomorrow, Paula. Come, mi amor.”

There’s a chorus of goodbyes as Andrés half drags Martín back to their house.

It’s not as nice as the one in Vietnam, nowhere near as big. But they don’t really need three guest rooms and a pool anymore. And Andrés did make sure they had the basic luxuries.

“You’re eager,” Martín says as Andrés strips him of his shirt the minute the front door closes behind them

“Well,” Andrés purrs. “I thought tonight we could finally try out our new bath. We really didn’t use the old one enough.”

“That’s because Tokyo and Nairobi insisted on calling it a murder tub. You try getting it up when your husband’s ex-wife’s corpse was in the same bath you were in,” Martín grumbles as Andrés leads him through the house.

“Oh I don’t blame you, mi amor. I’m just saying we should make more use of this one.”

They make it to the bathroom and Andrés turns on the taps on their sunken bathtub. When he turns around, he sees Martín still standing there in his shorts and socks.

“Martín you are wearing distinctly too many clothes,” he says, raising an eyebrow as he steps out of his own trousers and underwear.

Martín strips faster than Andrés has ever seen him and Andrés tugs his husband into the rapidly filling bath.

“Okay, I now regret trying to convince you to get a normal bathtub,” Martín gasps as Andrés pulls him onto his lap.

“I bet you do,” Andrés says, grinding their hips together. “Thankfully, I didn’t listen.” He pulls Martín into a filthy kiss which his husband responds to enthusiastically.

“Yeah, you need to work on your listening skills,” Martín teases when they part, reaching over to turn off the water. “It might be your only flaw,” he says as Andrés’ hand moves lower and lower and it’s the last coherent thing he says for a while.

Later, Martín floats in the bath, his head resting on Andrés’ shoulder, back pressed against his chest. Andrés puts his chin on Martín’s shoulder and kisses the bolt of his jaw.

“Are you happy, mi amor?” he asks and Martín turns his whole body to look at him, thighs settling on either side of Andrés’ waist.

Martín smiles slowly, his face still flushed, hair ridiculously spiky from the water and humidity. “Of course. I’m here with you.”

Andrés can’t resist kissing him again. “I love you, you know that right?” he asks, forehead pressed to Martín’s.

“Yeah, I’ve kind of noticed,” Martín says softly. “I think I’m finally sure of it. And, I love you too of course.”

“Of course?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddddd, that's it. Done. Finished. That's all folks.  
> Probably, until I get bored. Fr though, I think this is probably the end of this verse. I have some other Berlermo fic ideas I'm working on, plus my [helsinki/palermo fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380950) which i need to finish.
> 
> Okay I'm super aware that the ending is unrealistic but let me have this okay? They all live happily ever after on an island together and Martín is a sexy engineer/mechanic who is Paula's favourite uncle.
> 
> Some final notes: It's always been incomprehensible to me that none of the women tried to get with Andrés (before they found out what a dick he was) when Pedro is sooooo hot. Also, I feel like I'm giving away my obsession with nice bathrooms with this fic so [this](https://www.digsdigs.com/34-dreamy-sunken-bathtub-designs-to-relax-in/pictures/148213/) is the sunken bathtub they have (and i desperately want). Finally, thank you all so so much for your support. Every single one of your comments, kudos, and weird asks makes my day. Feel free to leave a comment or talk to me on [tumblr](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com), i swear I'm nice.


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